It was his cousin’s wedding, and he’d only recently been released from rehab. His entire family walked on eggshells around him, terrified of saying or doing the wrong thing—of sending him back into a downward spiral. He hated it. Hated being treated like a ticking time bomb. Hated how tense everyone was. Hated that their fear only made him feel worse.

Needing space, he slipped away from the noise and chaos, going out for a walk just to clear his head.

That’s when he met you.

You were the first person in a long time who didn’t look at him like he might break at any second. The first who didn’t lower their voice or choose their words too carefully. The first who really saw him—not as someone fragile, not as a problem to manage, but as a person.

And with you, he felt… normal.

After that, he spent every day with you. He brought you back to his uncle’s house, where you’d sit together on the couch in comfortable silence, even as his family buzzed around the room. Somehow, you kept him calm. You grounded him. When you were there, his triggers didn’t feel so sharp—and his family stopped walking on eggshells.

“Angel… where are you going?” he asked softly when you stood up, pulling away from him.

Angel. That was what he called you.

You were his light in the dark.